


Familiar Problems

by EasyTangent



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Cat, Clerics, Familiars, Gen, Grey-and-Grey Morality, Origin Story, POV Third Person Limited, Self-Mutilation, Temporary Character Death, Wizards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 22:46:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4239549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EasyTangent/pseuds/EasyTangent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A familiar becomes a person. A friend becomes an enemy. An enemy becomes scary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Familiar Problems

It was supposed to be so simple. That was laughable now. If he could even contemplate laughing in this hole. This lightless, cloying hole. Not that the darkness bothered him so much, he supposed. He sucked in more air across his wet muzzle, trying to hold in the pain.

 

***

 

“Sesh-shaun-ey,” he felt the firm hand on his head, and the energies flowing into him. “Mu-ki,” his fur was warm and sleek against his body, only slightly weighted by the collar he wore around his neck. “Rho-tu,” the air smelled of comforting herbs and chemicals, and was warm from the lit clay brazier. “Arl-sesh,” and with the final, carefully spoken syllable, he could feel the arcane might of his Master settle comfortably within him.

 

It was a little like there was a tiny fluttering sparrow in his chest. A bit odd, but exciting, and yet also routine. Magic was a complicated business to say the least.

 

The hand wasn’t removed from his head, and instead began to slowly stroke the top of it, between his grey ears. The petting was far more gentle after the spell was cast; he could feel the weakness in the fingers.

 

Opening one of his eyes, an ordinary cat’s-eye green, he flicked a glance up toward the face staring into the brazier’s flame. “Are you quite alright? It seems that Corruption took a greater-than-usual toll.”

 

The regal human’s eyes continued to stare into the flames, and no answer was immediately forthcoming. The petting continued.

 

An unusually raspy voice finally replied, “It’s nothing that I haven’t experienced before. No worse than the time with Garow, certainly.” The hand that wasn’t petting him reached for the mug of white glow-wine resting on the brazier. Bringing it over to drink, he could smell the dance of ginger and anise spin past. His Master blew, and shifted the staring to the mug before taking a sip. After returning the mug to the warmth of the fire, the human’s lips turned up in a coy grin, “And it’s not like the time with Havisbeck, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

 

His tail lashed out in automatic annoyance at the name. “I hadn’t been worried about that. Not until you mentioned it. I try to just block it entirely. That man is…” a yowl eclipsed any further words he tried to get out, followed by some hissing and rising fur.

 

The hand that had been petting him was raised to cover his Master’s mouth, attempting to stifle laughter. It was entirely not successful. He heard the amusement slip out, and it actually calmed him some. The hissing subsided. His Master hadn’t laughed much in recent times.

 

He wasn’t entirely pleased to have to relive those memories to actually get the laugher out, though.

 

Covering some of his remaining annoyance, he turned away from the firelight in the centre of the room, and began to viciously groom his tail. “I was simply concerned that you might be indisposed while I was away. Were you in such a state, I would delay my journey.” More grooming, more lightly applied this time, followed. “It’s not like the others have great bedside manner.”

 

A full-on snort of laughter erupted from that. “The others don’t have appealing dispositions, generally, much less in times when empathy is actually a helpful thing to display.” The hand uncovered the mouth, and continued to pet him. Between the laughter, calming hand, and the warm fire, he began to calm and purr.

 

They continued in comfortable silence for a time. His throat rumbling, fire-crackling, and the odd sipping of glow-wine the only sounds.

 

“Do I really have to walk all the way there?” he asked in a plaintive voice. He knew the answer, but it didn’t hurt to try one more time.

 

Master let out a long breath. “You know it’s for the best. She’s pretty good at detecting us. I don’t know what sort of traps she’s got set up. Considering, she can do most anything. If I had Auror’s skill, it could maybe work, but,” the hand rubbed his belly vigorously, “you’ll just have to walk this off instead of using magic to solve all your problems. You’ve become lazy since meeting me.”

 

“I’ve never been lazy, Master,” he huffed. “You just bring it out in others.”

 

“And to show just how not-lazy I am,” he got up onto his feet, stretching out his body and arching his back while Master continued with the petting, “I shall be off on this cold and dark night, while others are sitting in comfortable, stuffed chairs.” Angling his head up to his human, slitted eyes turned serious. “Make sure you rest to recover from this. I should be back to before the first quarter.” His gaze flicked to the fire, and the tip of his tail swished, “And I would rather not return to find you in a heap on the floor.”

 

“Little kitty, when you return, you will find me roasting a peacock for you, not sprawled on the floor.”

 

His head snapped up meet mirthful blue eyes. “You’re going to let me eat one of your peacocks!?”

 

“Consider it reward for all the dust you’ll get in your fur.”

 

Hopping down from the ottoman, he cast one last glance toward Master. “I will hold you to that. And no weaseling out with a peahen, either.” Then he stalked through the beaded curtain to the entry hall, past the noren, and finally out onto the street.

 

Looking down at the filthy road, he grimaced. “Hopefully it’s only dust that gets in there,” giving his left shoulder a bit more grooming before setting off into the darkness.

 

The next few days he took to travelling the dusty, packed dirt roads. The fall rains hadn’t appeared as they usually did, and the country was a mass of bare trees, harvested fields, and dead grasses. There was the odd peaked mound of stone along the roadside, which he gave wide berth. No sense in getting any closer to the spirits before his ninth life was well used.

 

Clear blue days and clear starry nights seemed to be as constant as the chill air. Sun passing right to left, and stars spinning the same way.

 

That wasn’t quite right. There were other constants: his connection to Master, and that fluttering of magic held within him.

 

He spent a bit of time detouring off the road, finding fat mice to eat. They truly were delicious after fattening on autumn’s nuts and seeds. Though even they would hold nothing to the promised peacock when he got home. As he continued his long march, he found himself purring at the very thought.

 

Continuing on his path, he found that it finally became a properly stone-paved road. That was certainly going to cut down on the amount of dust his had to clean from his fur every night.

 

The next day, he spotted a wooden mule-cart leaving an orchard, driven by a hunched back… woman. He was going to go with woman. The face was so tanned and wrinkled by sun that he couldn’t quite make out the cheekbone structure, nor chin. But the person was was wearing the traditional head scarf under her broad straw hat, so she had to be a woman. Otherwise she was quite mannish, even down to her thick hands holding the leather reins.

 

Waiting by the side of the road amongst some wild grasses, he began to clean some of the omnipresent dust from his tail, while he waited for her to catch up to him. As the cart rolled by, he simply leapt up onto the seat beside the driver, and lay down, continuing to clean his tail.

 

While startled, the woman didn’t change the slack on the mule. After giving him a look over, she cooed at his pretty gray coat. Of course she would; his coat was gorgeous, both naturally, and after all the work he put into maintaining it.

 

The woman then began to talk to him like he was her greatest of bosom buddies, relating all manner of news about the apple harvest (splendid), the amount of chicken thefts (up), the past wedding of her oldest girl (to the priest’s son), and the upcoming wedding of her youngest boy (to the tanner’s son).

 

She droned on as the cart rumbled through the day, and others joined them on the stone road. The road, which was, Cat Lord above, noisy and loud with all the wheels and people and animals. At least all the people meant they were getting close to Luskin.

 

As the sun was setting beyond the western hills, the walls of the city finally came to view. Only six days since leaving. He might be done with this sooner than he told Master.

 

The apple farmer drove the cart toward the gated entry, which was still wide open, even given the late hour. Others were entering or exiting the city under the loose gaze of armored people. Guards of some kind he supposed. He could smell that a couple of them were drunk. The watch seemed to be more perfunctory than anything. With the last light of the sun far gone beyond the hills, the guards made no move to shut the city gates.

 

No wonder this is where they were testing out their plan.

 

As the apple cart passed the stone walls, he mewed a thanks to the lady, and hopped off onto the cobblestones. The setting darkness was no issue for his slit eyes, though he could make out a lamp-lighter in the distance. The lady was making her ways between torches, lighting them for the lesser beings who couldn’t make their way in a darkened city.

 

Swishing his tail behind him, he began to follow the directions he had been given. The further he ventured into the city, the more rank it became with sewage, garbage, and people. How did anyone live here? It was an absurd thought, and he was completely grateful that his Master was not one of the the ones who needed to work in this cesspool.

 

Stalking further in, past more than a few strays he felt unfortunate pity for, he finally came to Luskin’s cloister. It was decidedly better smelling than the previous experience with the city. He walked past another set of open gates, and stood before a magnificent wooden building. The crests in the front identified it as the official building for city affairs. The high timbre roof stood the height of a barn, and was impressive to behold, with its numerous carvings wooden statues of very stern looking people.

 

Impressive as it might be, it was not his final destination. He made his way past the structure, down a street which had turned from simple cobblestone to squared stones of regular shape. Definitely the classy part of this horrible town.

 

He continued into the opulent quarter, and he could see before him, albeit at a distance, a building that put that wooden barn to shame. It rose a vast height, and was made of stone. Even at a distance he could see the exterior of the building was intricately carved-- though he could not make out the details. The carvings were a-lit by small motes of yellow light which seemed to hover in a pattern which itself seemed some work of art.

 

Making his way closer, his tail finally stilled, as he could more clearly experience the majesty before him. There were no buildings to rival this, surely. Stone statues of beautiful people who seemed nearly lifelike on the outside, cast a watchful gaze towards him. The lights seemed to hover to cast shadows only on those approaching the building, leaving the art in full detail, and a long, four-legged shadow stretching behind him.  Painted glass shone between the stone carvings, showing scenes from the times of the primordials, and the rising of divinity. Even the gardens before it were awash in colour, though the flowers should have died at the inevitable late-fall chill.

 

He sent a mewing pray to the Cat Lord for protection from what was surely going to be a rather sacrilegious act. But Master needed it done, so it would be done.

 

Setting his ears back, he made his way up the front steps, and strung to the left towards a side garden where some very out of season lilacs were in bloom. Then he curled up under their fragrant foliage and waited for the next dawn.

 

Rather enjoying sleeping under the aromatic bushes-- and he thought he detected rose when he awoke-- he was indignant when the bells the great cathedral started to ring as the sun arose over the eastern walls of the city. He put his ears back in annoyance rather than religious deference this time.

 

Now that he was awake, he adjusted his position in the garden to get a bit of the leaf-filtered sunlight on his fur. The sun’s rays were pleasant, even diluted. Between the heat and the energy still fluttering in his chest, it was an oddly comfortable place to wake up, all told. Still, he didn’t quite feel like opening his eyes yet, so started his morning grooming by muscle memory. No reason not to look your best, even when on the trail. And especially when there was going to be such an esteemed audience.

 

Besides, he had plenty of time. This particular, weirdly androgynous, if the frieze was anything to go by, power didn’t hold early morning service. Its followers simply rang the bells at a god-awful morning hour for absolutely no reason.

 

Oh, well. Plenty of grooming time in warm sunlight.

 

It wasn’t until he had gotten to his rear-paws that the service bells began. They were slightly longer, and seemed to actually attempt to be some sort of tune instead of the clammering of noise that had preceded it.

 

He could make out people start to make their way towards the steps into the large building he waited in front of. They were mostly a human-looking sort, arriving by foot and carriage. All were wrapped against the autumn that the delightful sunbeams couldn’t make disappear. Amongst the humans, he was able to spot the odd halfling--and what halfling wasn’t odd-- and a few half-breeds. Not that he found anything wrong with that; outbreeding usually reduced the crazy in his experience.

 

It seemed a couple hundred beings had entered before the flow was reduced to a trickle. Giving his paw pad one last lick-- there was something seriously in there-- he made his way from beneath the lilacs. Stepping onto the smooth stones of the stairway, he gave one last look at the androgenous sculptures and mewed another quick prayer to the Great Cat, before making his way through the open doors of the cathedral.

 

The interior was just as oddly decorated. What sort of power wouldn’t want to assume a better sort of form than, “approximately humanoid, if you took away any defining features?” Now that Morninglord, that was a power who knew how to shape himself. Giving passing glance to more creepy androgynous carvings, he crossed through the open entryway, and into the filled nave.

 

Row upon row of people were seated on wooden pews facing the front toward the altar and the pulpit. Or, he assumed that is what they were facing. He could only see so far up, with his head at most beings’ calves.

 

Slinking off to the left, he moved along the cool stone floor to the side of the nave where there would be a less obtrusive path to the front of the building. He had contemplated making this final journey prior to the service beginning, but he worried that he may have been more easily discovered in an empty building. That, or have set off any alarms that the witch might have set up. It was, after all, her husband’s sanctuary.

 

But he hadn’t detected anything as of yet-- not that that meant much.

 

Still, he kept to the darker shadows along the side of the building as he made his way forward. He caught some bars of the song some unfortunate castrato was floundering his way through. Sadly he couldn’t block all of it out.

 

Luckily, by the time he reached the front of the nave, the man-- if he could actually be called that-- had shut his mouth on the final, horrible note. When he got to the premiere pew, more of an ornate sofa really, he could finally gaze upon the front of the cathedral.

 

Awkward applause covered his entry beneath the box-sofa-pew of the first row. He slid under the seat beside the absurdly large lacy skirt of a matronly widow-- for those were the only people still wearing such things. He was actually able to stand under the thing in his own world of white silken frills. He dared not look up. And since being able to see the speaker of the ceremony was of paramount importance, he journeyed past his lacey microcosm, slipping under that delightfully soft material.

 

Beyond the lacey skirt he found a another skirt of shocking lace density, which he quickly made his way past.

 

At the end of that second lacey caress he delightedly came upon a pair of men’s leathers spayed in a socially unfortunate angle. But that meant that he could comfortably settle himself in shadows and still maintain eyesight to the front of the building. Society’s ill was his gain, in so many ways. Settling with paws tucked under him, he eyed the front of the building.

 

There was a decidedly white alter of marble, marked with more androgynous figures and sundials. How anyone was supposed to make an offering upon it was unclear, as it came up to a point in the centre, instead of a bowl.  Across the dais from the altar was the pulpit. Another terribly white affair in marble, and much adorned as the altar was.

 

During his sneaking time, a woman of long, raven hair had climbed onto the dais and moved to the centre of it. She wore a stunning green gown on her body, meant to show off curves rather than hide flaws. Even her overly large belly, swollen with the largest child any human had ever carried, or a litter of little ones, was made to look somehow shapely by the cut of the gown.

 

Turning to face the audience, her delicate face swept over the crowd. Her cheekbones were oddly familiar, though he had never travelled to these parts before, and he didn’t make any effort to attend religious ceremonies. While he didn’t much care for most ladies, he would have remembered such a beautiful and gracious exemplification. She reminded him of something, something that he maddeningly couldn’t quite put his paw on.

 

Upon finishing her sweep, the lady seemed to settle and speak in a tongue he was not familiar with. She moved her hands and arms about in wide gestures as she spoke, and pontificate at that, he assumed. At one point she even finger-sketched some crude symbols that Master had warned him of. The kind to be bodily avoided.

 

While viewing a spat of those defiled gestures, a large yawn slipped out and he closed his eyes to enjoy the stretch of lethargy. Blinking back into focus, he put the issue from his mind. Perhaps he had just seen her entering the building earlier that day.

 

He sat with anticipatory nerves as she continued to speak to the crowd in the cathedral. She would have to stop speaking at some point, and hopefully he would be able to make his move then. He really didn’t want to have to listen to another castrato, or more speakers of dumb languages.

 

The Lord of His Kind was at work in this ridiculous place, and his wish was granted.

 

His human quarry rose from the congregates and clasped the woman in a public-friendly kiss, and then she climbed down the dais to where he could no longer see her. The human who had kissed her was wearing the gross mauve-brown robes that this power apparently required. Formal religious wear was often terrible to behold, indeed.

 

The man stepped fully behind the pulpit opens his mouth to speak. The priest also begins to move his mouth in ridiculous shapes, in a language unintelligible to sensible people. Though, the feline hiding under the box-pew, behind the leather boots mused, he was neither sensible nor a person. Then he began to groom his paw again. Because something was seriously in there. And. It. Was. Not. Coming. Out.

 

He had alternated licking and light biting his pads enough to finally get that rose prickle out from his paw. Cursing the gardeners who thought to mix the purple of lilacs with the red of roses, he spat out the prickle and turned his attention back to the priest.

 

It was going to have to be now. There was no reason not to do it. A scene was at stake, and he had no idea when this monstrosity of a speech would be over. While he often lost track of time while grooming, he was pretty sure he had been at his paw for nearly an hour.

 

Rising back onto his feet, he rolled his shoulders before settling his usual expression of apathy on his face. Not that most beings could usually tell with cats. But it never hurt to be cautious. He slowly poked his head out from between the spread boots and ambled toward the dais.

 

Moving toward the cut-stone platform, he studied the priest. The man’s coarse, wavy hair was golden, contrasting with his muddy-coloured robes. He wore a gleaming silver pauldron over his left shoulder, showing his status as a warrior-priest. Brown eyes were alight with divine fervor, or likey so. He seemed to be very into his tidings, at least.

 

The words were still complete gibberish to him.

 

He hopped up the three stairs to the platform, completely gracefully, and he paused to give a look back over his shoulder. The cathedral was filled to capacity. This was going to be quite the scene, indeed. About to turn back to complete his mission, he caught someone staring at him with bemusement.

 

The eyes belonged to a lady sitting in a premier box-pew on the other side of the building. The one who had been speaking earlier. Her eyes were narrowed and her fingers were playing with her long hair.

 

As he studied her in return, tail flicking, he noted the light of the grand coloured window playing off her cheekbones.

 

His tail, and the rest of him went still in the horror of clarity. The woman was not familiar because he had seen her before.

 

She was familiar because she was Master’s sister.

 

How could he have not seen the resemblance before? The fine bone structure, glossy hair, and intelligent eyes.

 

There was no mistaking it. She was Master’s sister: the witch of meddling and dread. Wife of his target.

 

This was going to complicate things.

 

It wasn’t like he could hold off on his mission. Every day that Master’s magic was fluttering within him was a day that Master couldn’t use more magic. Another day that Master wouldn’t be able to work, and be left defenceless. And it was likely only a matter of moments before the witch worked out what he was, so his opportunity to act would be gone.

 

No, he was here, and he needed to fulfil what he was charged with. Besides, Master was rather enamoured with theatrics, and perhaps having the witch witnessing it would add to the spectacle of it all.

 

Not wasting any more time, he turned back to the speaker. In the corner of his eye, he saw the witch’s complexion drain of colour, and her mouth open in horror.

 

Darting up the last two steps, he turned and ducked behind the oblivious man’s legs. Curling around the plated metal feet, he felt Master’s magic flow out of him, and into its target. The warm fluttering in his chest was gone, and it saddened him a little.

 

As he acclimatized to his normal bodily state, he was delighted to hear that the magic had worked. The priest had stopped the sermon. For the man was no longer able to speak of his god; Master had sealed the priest’s religious knowledge. As an added bonus, he had been carrying a second magic which sealed the knowledge of his wife.

 

The Seer had one fewer knights to do her bidding. She would be as a stranger to him, and a useless one at that. With sealing his knowledge of the ridiculous androgynous power, he would no longer be able to call upon divine wonders.

 

And with the head priest of this cathedral stupefied before his congregation, it would make introducing Maël’s people so much easier. He gave a little shudder at the thought of red-robed priests; he had seen some of their rituals.

 

When he focused himself again, he found that he was already running down the side of the cathedral, his body terrified at the ramifications of what he had done.

 

Well, more so whom he had done his actions in front of. From all the stories, she was one scary lady. And he had just messed with her husband.

 

Flying down the wide central aisle, he could hear the confused murmuring of the congregants, unsure of why the priest had stopped his sermon. From behind him, he could hear a lone female voice shouting, “The cat! Stop it! Let me by!”

 

He dared to hope he would be able to escape the witch, as he set a paw onto sun-warmed stone just a few tails from the open wooden doors.

 

But as his second paw made it into the sun, the woman’s frantic tone changed to a resounding fury, “You. Will stop!”

 

His third paw wouldn’t lift from the shadowed stone. His ears wouldn’t swivel to hear better, His tail couldn’t move to readjust for balance. The small blessing he found in this was that his lungs apparently were not held in place, nor was his heart.

 

Though, his heart was in danger of murdering him with how fast it was beating. The adrenaline of the horror of recognition, then the dead sprint, then the additional horror of the stunning was a bit much.

 

The crowd’s murmur had risen to open talking and questions, unsure of what had just happened. There was a delighted squeal of, “Kitty!” before he felt tiny, chubby hands picked him up and hug his limp body into a garishly embroidered child’s shift.

 

While the addition of another chubby hand scratching his ears and remarking that his fur was soft was appreciated, it really wasn’t the time for cuddles. Not that his unresponsive body could really do anything about that.

 

Still, the petting was something to concentrate on with the rising panic, and the ever-loudening snapping of a lady in heels rushing somewhere.

 

“I’m going to take you home and call you, ‘Amma,’ because you have hair the same colour as Amma before she died.”

 

A more mature lady’s voice spoke in response, “Violet, unfortunately that kitty wouldn’t make a very good pet. He’s not a very good cat. And besides, he already has an owner.” The witch in the green dress came in front of him and his child-handler, blocking out the sun’s light. “But if you give him to me, I’ll make sure he gets where he’s supposed to go.”

 

The little girl’s hand on his head started scratching his ears in a painfully hard manner. “But then I won’t have Amma to pet. And what if you don’t pet her?”

 

A wearied man’s voice called out behind, somewhere that he couldn’t see, “Vee, put the cat down, you have so many cats to pet at home. They just aren’t here with you, right now. You can pet them all when we get home”

 

The rough petting thankfully stopped, but he would have rathered it continued if it meant that he wasn’t about to be handed over to the witch in green. But, alas.

 

The girl handed him to the witch who stooped over to reach down to the child’s height. As smooth, ivory hands reached for him, he felt terror beyond anything he had seen at a ceremony performed by necrophile’s red-priests.

 

Pure blue eyes locked onto his own pastel green, and he could feel the burning hatred in them. The flaring nostrils added to the overall image, too. “Don’t worry Violet. This kitty is going to be pet so, so very much. So much that he won’t have fur by the end of the petting.”

 

He would have liked to have said that soaking the witch’s dress with bodily fluids at the moment was an act of defiance, but really, it was just abject, coma-inducing fear.

 

Upon waking from his black-out, there was nothing much but darkness around him. Luckily that wasn’t actually a problem as he could see perfectly well in the dark. Slightly problematic was that he was pretty sore all-round. Like he had fallen a great distance and landed on every side of his body. What was more problematic was that he seemed to be at the bottom of a dry well, maybe six tails across, and when he looked up, he could see nothing. It just journeyed into blackness.

 

The most problematic thing, which he tried not to think about, was that he could no longer feel Master’s mind in his. He could feel their bond, and the reassurance of that, but the actual connection to Master’s feeling was gone. Likely shut down by the witch.

 

He got up from the cold stone floor to wander his limited space. Only then did he notice that his front right paw had been cuffed to a length of cold iron. That seemed a bit much. Where was he supposed to go? Looking at the cuff, he was able to read the runes for sustenance etched into the metal. At least he wouldn’t die of malnutrition down here.

 

Still, he ritually checked all the stones that he could reach for any sign of looseness or illusion or miraculous secret tunnel. He even took to smelling the rough and uneven stones, which was not the most pleasant thing, but perhaps there was an unusual wisp of air coming from somewhere. After all, the water in the well would have flowed in at some point.

 

Unless this hole was just dug to imprison people in it… but that seems like it would be a lot of work. Not to mention hauling all the stones here.

 

His musing at the architecture of old wells was cut short when the darkness around him seemed to concentrate on the floor, and then grown a respectable number of tails high, until it reached human height. Then the amorphous dark blob took on the face of the witch.

 

Hissing, he jumped back to the wall with his tail raised and all his fur rising up, and the chain clanking along with his movement.

 

“Hello, reprehensible creature,” her voice was cold and dispassionate. “My name is Marjoleen,” his tail began to flail furiously back and forth. “You have harmed my husband,” the shadow-form’s eyes narrowed.  “And you are in bed with my siblings!” The last statement seemed to be punctuated on each word.

 

His tail stilled, and he became agast with her just throwing that out there, “Wait, how do you know about him!? And it was just the one brother!”

 

For some reason the shadow form looked little taken aback and a touch less menacing. Quizzically, she asked, “Wait, aren’t you Jasynth’s little grey chaton?”

 

“What!? Oh, wait! Yes, that’s what I meant; of course I’m her’s!” he spat with all the vehemence of one defending their Master. Though, upon realizing what he had admitted, he gracelessly backpedaled with a stammering, “No? Who is that? I’m just a normal cat, and you can understand my hisses because you’re using some… some sort of sorcery!?”

 

The shadow form smirked down at him. “I am using magic, though in my particular case the word you would be looking for is, ‘wizardry,’ chaton. And apparently there are some things that even I don’t know about my siblings.” She said with a jovial laugh.

 

Her eyes narrowed again, and a scowl returned to her shadow-face, laughter cut off. “Disregarding beds, you have performed a rather abominable act towards the man I love. And you are… in league with some very, very bad people.” The shadow form loomed over him. Then her fingers snapped while she called out a word he couldn’t catch.

 

In her hand a glob of yellow viscous fluid churned. At the same moment, the chain attached to his forepaw started to wrap around him, and he was not able to fight against the strength of the cold iron. Held immobile before her dark form, he watched some of the liquid drop from her hand toward him.

 

The wizard’s voice lost all sense of civility, “If you please, there are many things I would care to know about.”

 

***

 

He remembered a lot of pain. A lot of air that had been forced from his lungs. Uncomfortable temperatures. He didn’t really recall the time. After all, there was no light change in the deep and dank hole.

 

He also remembered that he hadn’t said anything about Master, nor Master’s siblings. He tried to remain strong through it all, trying to protect Master, and hold onto the faint bond they still shared.

 

The bond was certainly stretched, just as it had been on his journey to the city. But it was still present. And through the inquisitions of the witch, he had felt that bond remain a steady link to the outside work. Master was alright, and was surely going to get him out of this mess.

 

Then he remembered his fur being peeled off, and nothingness after that.

 

***

 

When he next came to, things were very, very different.

 

He had skin again, so, you know, that was deeply gratifying. He also could see his fur was beginning to grow back in. Which meant there was a worrying amount of time he was missing, or there was some restorative magic at work.

 

And given all that he had experienced, he kinda doubted that.

 

There was also something fiercely wrong. Well, besides the torture, blackouts, regrown skin, chain, and hole.

 

Something that was… lacking?

 

Standing gingerly on his paws, he began to pace around the bottom of the hole as he cast his mind about, searching for what wasn’t there anymore. It felt that he was missing something important: like his eyes, or his tail. But after giving his body a running tally, he seemed in rough shape, but intact.

 

So he cast his mind out, thinking the malaise was somehow related to Master.

 

Except.

 

Except Master was gone. Or, the bond was gone. He knew Master had not died; there would have been a mark on his mind if that had happened.

 

Their bond had been dismissed.

 

By Master.

 

He had been dismissed, while imprisoned and tortured by the witch, and and all to protect Master.

 

He spent the next… measure of time… days, weeks perhaps, waiting. He expected the shadows to condense into the witch’s form again, coming back for more inquisition.

 

Except, the shadows never moved.

 

He could see his fur was starting to come back in a full, if thin covering. That would mean a couple of months.

 

This was getting ridiculous. He had been completely abandoned in this hole. Abandoned by Master. Abandoned by his torturer, even.

 

That bloodline was the worst.

 

The absolute worst.

 

***

 

So now that he was alone, chained at the bottom of a dry well, with no hope of someone else getting him out, and no quick death by starvation, what were his options?

 

***

 

His fur had finally come back in. It wasn’t as well maintained as it should be, though.

 

***

 

He had stopped caring that his fur wasn’t maintained.

 

***

 

Today, whatever day this was, he had a new thought. A very rare occurrence.

 

No one was coming to release him. No one was coming to kill him. No one was coming to do anything to him.

 

He was trapped at the bottom of a hole alone, yes, but he was also trapped at the bottom of a hole, alone.

 

The first option was to stay here for eternity. The second option was to do something about that.

 

He looked at his right paw, which he had tried to loosen for so long that the fur no longer grew back around it.

 

Even if he had no expansion in his paw pads, he was unable to move his paw through the cuff. It was magic, of course. There was no physical reason why he couldn’t pull his paw out of the cuff.

 

So he began to try to scratch away the stone anchoring the chain to the floor. But that turned out to be an activity of futility. His claws wore to bleeding stumps, and he wasn’t even able to make noticeable scratches in the rock.

 

The anchor couldn’t be loosened, which meant, he looked at his right forepaw, that the other end would have to be confronted.

 

***

 

So simple.

 

He couldn’t stop laughing with his wet, bloody muzzle.


End file.
